


Hello Knife

by SiwgrGalon



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Backstory: Ianto Jones, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt: Ianto Jones, Ianto Jones Family, Ianto Jones: Backstory, Ianto's Family, Other, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Torchwood - Freeform, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto has been through a lot in his life, but he found a way to cope with everything that was thrown at him. But being able to cope does not mean that it's any healthier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings: Self-harm, Language, Child Abuse (so therefore violence) –might work as a trigger, so if you're affected by this, please don't read.**
> 
> First of all, the title is taken from a song by the band "Donots" - as are the lyrics. It's a truly amazing song, so go and listen to it. :)   
> This plotbunny bit me while listening to that song. It's my first longer fanfic in years, and the first one I wrote in English, which is not my first language. So if there's anything off with my grammar or the use of a certain word, don't hesitate. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated.   
> Although it might be fluffy in the beginning, I believe it's rather dark, since the topics are. But then again, I like (now, this is going to sound shitty.) the idea of Ianto hurting himself. As seen in Children of Earth, I believe he really was abused as a child, and that's nothing easy to deal with.  
> In General, might be a bit AU-ish… forgive me (:
> 
> This was originally intended as something close to 5000 words - it's a 16.000 word monster, separated into three chapters, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

The room smelled of sex, mingled with faint traces of sweat and the overwhelming presence of pheromones. Jack's incredibly strong 51st century pheromones, mixing up with Ianto's far weaker ones. The ex Time Agent was sure he was the only one able to smell the young man's pheromones, and he relished in this fact. Ianto was his, entirely and completely. He had never been good at sharing, but when it came to the Welshman in his arms, it got even harder.  
The pair lay on the bed, a mess of entangled limbs. Ianto's head rested in the crook of Jack's neck, his arms wrapped possessively around his partner's middle, holding on. He enjoyed the feeling of their bodies, still partially covered by a thin layer of sweat, touching nearly full-length. He had missed human contact,  _intimate human contact_ he corrected himself, during the time Jack had been gone. The first time they had slept with each other after his return, the night before they sent Tommy back to 1915, he felt like he would burn. Only then did he realize how much he really craved human contact, and finally being able to really feel Jack again had reduced him to a quivering mess in no time at all.

"Penny for them?" Jack's deep voice cut the silence which had settled when their breathing stopped being panting and a bit labored. It had been comfortable, and it still was. Jack had one arm around Ianto's shoulders, as if he was afraid the young man would let go if he did. His hand gently stroked his young Welshman's cheek and neck, while his other hand rested in the small of Ianto's back, the fingers drawing lazy circles. Small circles, evolving into little "8"-movements, evolving into seemingly pointless lines, until slowly wandering higher. The lithe body, half on top of Jack, squirmed as he slowly dragged his fingers along the fair skin of Ianto's back. They followed the white scar, going nearly all the way from his left hip up to his left shoulder blade. Father's belt had drawn blood, back then. The first and the last time he had beaten him in a way that left marks which could not be disguised as the young man being clumsy and tripping over his own feet. He still remembered every detail, as if it had been yesterday and not around ten years prior.

Father was angry. Really angry. Ianto was sure about that. And he was drunk, which made it even worse. His "punishments" were bad when he was sober, but even worse when he was drunk. It was as if he knew no bounds, as if he forgot that too much force might break bones. When he was drunk, Ianto always feared that he or his sister would not see the sun coming up again. He dreaded the days when his Dad headed out to the pub again. It was a bad kept secret what he did to them, but nobody on the estate reacted. Some of them feared him all the same.

Just in this moment, he heard the deep voice of his father, his accent thicker than usual due to the alcohol, booming through the house.  
"Rhiannon! Are you too stupid to do  _anything_  around here? Your mother would be embarrassed."  
A smack. The sound of skin hitting soft skin, with far more force than needed. A sharp intake of breath. Rhiannon never cried. She always took it like a fighter.  
"And where's your brother? He's worse than you. Nothing in that small brain, except books. He's never going to make it out of here, as much as he might try."  
It hurt. Deeply. He did not want to end like his father. But this seemed to be exactly the plan he had for his youngest. The same, sad life. Work in a department store. Nothing big, barely earning enough money to live. Sometimes, nearing the end of the month, it became hard. Ianto had stopped counting how often their neighbours invited Ianto and Rhiannon over for dinner, because their father had spent too much money on beer in the Pub.

Another smack and Ianto snapped out of his misery.  
"Will you clean this up now? Do the laundry afterwards. And why is there no fucking dinner when I'm coming home?"  
Ianto knew he had his hand raised again. He would hit her again. And again. There was no mercy, not when he was this drunk. It was as if he forgot they were children. His children. How often he dreamt of having a normal family. None of these dreams contained a father.

Ianto listened to Rhiannon trying to explain herself. It had not been her fault. How should she do all this, when she kept pushing Ianto away? He tried to help, he always tried to help. His sister tried to protect him, he knew as much, but he did not need protection. This was exactly the reason why he had, unconsciously, opened the door to his room. He stepped downstairs; there they were. Rhiannon, fourteen years old, her eyes glassy from unshed tears and her cheek red from the contact with his father's hand. And their father. He was huge, menacing, and really,  _really_ drunk. He even swayed on his feet; it all looked like a bad day at work. Ianto dreaded these days the most. His father would be in an even fouler mood than usual. This was bad.

He did not know what drove him, but as he saw his father gaining momentum to deliver another punch, he slipped between his sister and her aggressor. The contact between Ianto's cheek and his father's hand hurt. Badly. More than Ianto expected it to hurt.  
"Leave her, she has done nothing wrong", pressed out between the teeth of a ten-year old boy, sounded astonishingly firm. Ianto tried not to flinch when his father gave him a shove, but he could not help it. Missing height and strength did that to you.  
"What do you care? You're as useless as her, little bastard. Even worse. Thinking you'll make something out of yourself? Well, grow up, boy, you're not gonna make it. You'll be the same as everyone, so shut it and fucking do what you're told to. And never, if you care for your poor life, never question me again. I am your father, and you do as I say, or you have to be punished. Don't wanna have you turn in one of these fucking poofs, being all happy and dancing around like a bloody fairy."

It hurt. Nearly worse than all the beatings before. His father had always known how to hurt people, in both ways, but he was too thick to realize that words might sting more than physical pain.  
"Oh, hit a nerve, did I? Don't want to know what's going on in that thick brain of yours, but boy, believe me, I'm the master here."  
Ianto refused to let the hurt show. He refused to even say a word, fearing that his voice might quiver a bit. He knew, stepping in had been courageous, but at the same time incredibly stupid. Father would center his anger on him, on him alone. It would be hard punishment, but at least he had bought his sister time. At least he hoped he had. There was no certainty when it came to his father's moods, especially not when he was drunk. Ianto silently prayed that he would leave her alone.

"Go to your room." Suddenly, his father was far too sober for Ianto's liking. Being drunk meant that his father was in a foul mood, often biting and snapping, but his aim was off. Being beaten still hurt, it all still hurt, but his physical aim was definitely off. In this state, he mostly missed the soft spots. His son had not expected him to turn sober within minutes. He must have been really furious.  
"I said go. To. Your. Room. NOW."  
Ianto faltered under his father's glare, and he slowly, carefully backed away. Never turning his back. He did not trust the man; he might seem sober now, but he could still be drunk. Turning his back could cost Ianto too much; letting your guard down was never good in these situations. His father's glare was icy, hard as steel and his youngest knew that whatever was to come would be major.  
"Faster, Ianto. This is between Rhiannon and me. Go to your fucking room, and don't you dare trying to escape. Just ask your sister, she'll tell you what happens. Won't you?"  
Rhiannon flinched and backed away a step. She nodded hastily and shot Ianto a pleading look.  _Don't make it worse, Ianto. Just do what you're told to do… it will be worse if you try to play games with him._ The siblings did not need words to communicate. Ianto knew exactly what Rhiannon wanted him to do. So he turned his back and ran.

As he gently pushed the door shut behind him, Ianto release a breath he did not realize he was holding. There was nothing to be heard from the kitchen, except his father ordering Rhiannon around. So he really had bought her time. Good.  
He closed his eyes; mentally preparing himself for whatever it was his… begetter would punish him with. Probably his bare hands, maybe his belt. Ianto feared the baseball bat, but his father just used it as a threat.  _Hopefully…_ Ianto thought, as pictures of forerunevenings like this one played in his head. It had never been harmless, but the bastard knew how to hit and, more important, where not to hit. No one ever saw the marks. No one would help them. Neither Ianto nor Rhiannon dared to tell anyone. The stakes were too high. If he ever found out, their father would beat them senseless. Sometimes Ianto wondered if he would actually kill one of them, sometime along the way they were going.

Heavy Steps on the stairs broke him out of his reverie. He was coming, and Ianto was far from ready. Then again, were you ever ready to receive physical pain from your father? A person supposed to love and be loved by you? Probably not. It was nothing Ianto was ever ready for. It was nothing he would ever get used to. How should he? Ianto might hate his father for doing this to his sister and him, but he was still their father.  
The door nearly burst open. As noisy as he opened it, his father closed it behind him. One of the reasons Ianto was rather quiet. Being noisy reminded him too much of his father.  
"Get up."  
The boy hadn't even realized that, sometime during his musings, he had sat down on his bed. But he nearly jumped when his father fixed him with these cold, gray eyes, his voice steely. Resistance would be futile. Sitting down had been a stupid decision all the same, he knew it.

"Undress."  
Hesitation. What was he going to do…? Ianto did not want to think about the possibilities. He slowly pulled his jumper over his head and started to unbutton his shirt. He still wore is school uniform.  
"Faster. Don't try to play games with me. Don't think there's anything in this which could have a benefit for you. I'm not going to shove my cock up your little arse, stupid brat."  
Inwardly, Ianto released another breath. At least no sexual abuse. He was always afraid that it would happen someday, but the way his father had just spoken seconds ago erased all these fears. He would never do this. Maybe he was scared of becoming gay. Who knew? It saved Ianto's arse, quite literally, and he was glad.  
Ianto did not know how he got rid of his clothes so fast without tearing them in half. As he was about to remove his pants, his father stopped him, his voice slightly raised.  
"What did I just tell you? Nothing of this. I don't want you this way. There are many things, and persons, I would do before that, believe me. And now, on your knees, bastard. Face the wall."

Ianto could not hold back the scream that escaped his lips as his father's belt hit home with full force. Normally, the boy was controlled when it came to pain, he held everything back, but the sheer brutality surprised him.  
Screaming just made his father angrier. He felt like exploding, and for a brief moment he considered gagging the child, just to make him keep quiet. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Each word underlined by a new hit. Soon the boy's back wore an angry shade of red, but the man's anger knew no bounds. He kept hitting him, enjoying each smack of leather on pale, bare skin. It was a relief, such an immense relief. He was responsible for his wife's death, so Ianto could take the punishment. Sometimes his father regretted having him; he even regretted Rhiannon, but somehow she was… different. She did not remind him of his dead wife, like Ianto did. She did not have the same, sad blue eyes, although she looked remarkably alike. He could not stand those eyes anymore. His son did not deserve to wear them. With each thought, each reminder of his dead wife, he hit his son even harder. Ianto winced, but he kept quiet. Took the pain like a soldier. Like his sister always did, although she received a lot less than him.

Ianto was not stupid. He knew what his father saw in him, and he was sorry, so sorry, but how to change it? There was no way, they both knew it, but still. He knew why his father detested him so much. But knowing did not mean understanding why he hated him. Ianto had done nothing wrong, at least not consciously. He was not responsible. He often pictured himself, standing up and telling his father everything he always wanted to tell him. Ianto knew he would shout and scream and cry, he would not be able to help it, but he also was aware of the fact that it would change nothing.  
The young boy could not help a whimper as one of the strokes left a sharp pain, completely different from the usual sting. There was a warmth spreading out, just a bit, but it was nice. Then, after a moment, it hurt. Another whimper escaped his lips, but as the last blows rained down on him, he kept quiet.

Ianto did not dare to move. He still knelt there, facing the wall; the boy had not realized that, somewhere along receiving the blows, he had begun to hug himself. His arms wrapped around him, eyes tightly shut, he knelt there. By the sounds of it his father was fastening his belt again. It did not mean anything. Especially not that he was done with him. Ianto had learned that with a drunk father you never knew.  
He had been right. Mere seconds later, a large hand grabbed the back of his head. "Did you learn your lesson?"  
Apparently it had taken Ianto too long to nod, because his aggressor yanked his head back and his fist connected with Ianto's jaw.  
"I asked if you learned your lesson."  
This time, the boy nodded in time.  
"What did you learn?"  
"Not to interfere, father."  
Ianto hated sounding as weak as he did, but being submissive always helped. It had helped him so many times. For his old man, being submissive create the impression that he had successfully educated his son. Education and beating him up were the same for him. He never noticed that he just broke Ianto's will and, at the same time, Ianto himself. His son might be stubborn, just as his mother had been, but he was not unbreakable.

"Good. At least something you're good at."  
One last time, his foot connected with his son's ribs (it would bruise. Ianto was sure. Just as the punch delivered to his jaw would bruise. Someone would notice.). Ianto let himself fall to his side and listened to his father's retreating steps. As the door fell shut behind him, Ianto let the tears run free. He hugged his knees to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, in case his father wanted another go, but nothing happened. Minutes felt like hours, but he did not come back. Ianto guessed he had fallen into a deep alcohol-induced sleep.  
Slowly, as he relaxed, Ianto felt something trickle down his back. Albeit moving his left arm hurt, not just because of his tender ribs but because his left side had been beaten worse than his right. At least it felt as if. A little awkwardly Ianto finally reached the throbbing skin of his back; his fingertips connected with something warm, warmer than his skin and decidedly stickier than sweat. As he took a look at his finger, his breathing hitched. Blood. He was bleeding.  
Ianto felt his stomach sink. As much as he twisted and turned, he was unable to catch at least a glimpse of his back. Whatever this bastard of a father did to him, now that he knew he was bleeding, it hurt. A slow burn, emanating in a straight line all the way from his hip up to his shoulder blade, spread through the boy's body.

A slight creak announced the door being opened again, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Rhiannon looked at her brother, lying on the floor, his knees nearly at his chest.  
"Ianto… ."  
"I'm bleeding, I know. The bastard beat me bloody."  
Ianto sounded small, his voice nothing more than a soft whisper. He wished he was a more emotional person. He would be screaming and raging by now, but there would be no pressure building up in is stomach.  
Soft footfalls on the carpet. In an instant, Rhiannon kneeled behind her brother, carefully examining the nasty gash on his back.  
"He must be really angry…"  
"No excuse for beating me."  
"I know, but… it was never that bad."  
She had always wanted to become a nurse, but Rhiannon never wanted to exercise on her baby brother. By this time, Ianto was completely defenseless. He shook slightly, mainly because of the emotional strain. It was tiring.  
"He certainly never beat you that hard…"  
"Don't say that. We both know, if it weren't for you, I would be the one suffering by now. You daft sod, why did you have to step in? He would not have hurt me, at least not this bad. A red cheek, maybe, but mainly yelling."

After a moment of silence, her younger brother spoke again. Rhiannon had to concentrate to understand him. His voice was small and full of fear.  
"Are you angry now, too?"  
Ianto meant it. In this state, he was prepared for nearly everything. He was surprised when he felt a small hand tenderly running down his back, following the line of his spine and settling on his hip, right over the waistband of his pants.  
"No, I am not, you daft sod. I think you were a bit stupid, but I'm not angry. Never could be."  
Ianto hesitated a moment. It felt good, hearing Rhiannon say that. She sounded so loving, so caring. Her words eased the knot in his stomach only a bit, but they still did.  
"… how bad is it?"  
Rhiannon smiled a bit. For once, Ianto sounded like the regular ten-year old. He was so… grown-up, so mature. Too mature for his age, she could not deny that, and it hurt. It hurt so bad, seeing him like this.  
"It's a nasty gash… I don't think you'll need stitches, but I'll clean it. No way to dress something that big… you'll have to stay shirtless until the blood is dried." It came to her like Rhiannon was supposed to do this. Mending her younger brother, healing the wounds, both superficial and deep down in his soul, by surrogating as the mother they lost so early.

Slowly, the girl got up and went to the bathroom, fetching a wet cloth and a small bowl of clean water. Judging by the snoring coming out of their father's room, he was fast asleep and would be waking up either late at night or sleep through the whole night.  
When she returned to the room, Ianto was in the same position as earlier. He had not moved, and it broke Rhiannon's heart to know that he was in pain.  
As she gently cleaned the gash, she began to sing. It was an old Welsh lullaby,  _Suo Gân_  Ianto remembered, their mother used to sing to them. He still remembered it clearly, althought it had been so long ago.  
Washing the wound stung, but Ianto discovered it had a certain… pleasure to it. It eased the pressure inside his mind and he felt himself relax against his sister's warm, gentle hands. Rhiannon thoroughly cleaned the wound, paying attention the every inch and gently drying it off afterwards. She was not sure if that was what you were supposed to do, but it could not be that bad, could it?  
"Well, look at that. It looks half as nasty when all the blood is gone. But it might leave a mark… I'm so sorry, Ianto."  
"It's… I…." For a second, Ianto did not know what to say.  
"You would be a good nurse. And a good mum."  
And with that, tears flowed freely.

It was later that night, after a lot of being hugged and cuddled by Rhiannon, that Ianto found himself somewhat restless. He felt like bursting, like something urging him to go on, to run, to do anything to get rid of the tension inside. Ianto could not clearly locate it… his body was tense, rigid even, but at the same time it felt as if his mind was in the same state.  
He felt hollow, like a shell, like there was just his outer appearance, without Ianto inside. He stared at the ceiling of his room, pondering what to do. A deep sigh escaped the boy as he sat up. He cast a quick glance around his room, then decided to get up to get something to drink.  
Quietly, Ianto made his way down into the kitchen. He found the way without switching the lights on; light still held the danger of his father waking up, and he did not want to be punished for interrupting his sleep. Ianto guessed that his hangover would be bad enough.

Finally in the kitchen, flicking the light on, all thoughts of drinking were gone. While Ianto's eyes adapted to the sudden brightness, his gaze found the knife. There it was, on the counter. Shining like something unearthly, sending a silent invitation. He took measured steps. Slowly, as if scared of the object he desired making a quick escape, Ianto approached it. The handle felt cool in his hand. So cool. Soothingly cool, as if something curing some kind of new fever. Most of all, it felt good. Really und utterly good. A solid weight in Ianto's hand, nearly too big for him to completely grab hit, so he held on tighter. What to do? It was as if it sung to him, as if he called him and told him what to do.  
As cold metal connected with the soft, warm skin of a ten-year old boy's upper arm, Ianto felt completely at ease. For the first time after losing his mother, he felt alive.

_If you want to live,_

_Not just survive_

_If you need a place_

_To run and hide_

_Hello Knife, Hello Knife_

_Hello Knife._

The young boy took a deep breath. He still smelled their dinner, the last traces of the different aromas lingering in the air. The floor tiles were cold beneath his bare feet, but the red warmth running down his pale arm was nearly boiling hot. He was alive. So alive.  
And no one was allowed to know. Ianto would make sure of that. No one was to know of this; it was a secret he and the knife shared. Rinsing it under cold water, the first droplets of life hit the cold sink. It looked beautiful, marvelous even.  
 _But there is no other way_ Ianto thought, a bit bitter, as he started to clean the sink, followed by his arm. The cut was not deep, and it quickly stopped bleeding, but Ianto hoped it would leave a scar. To always remind him of this day.

Jack frowned as Ianto snuggled even closer. It was definitely not typical for the young Welshman to be this clingy. A bit clingy, yes, but in a good way. Jack enjoyed Ianto being possessive, but he sensed that this was something different.  
"Everything okay?"  
"It's a bit late now to have second thoughts, don't you think, Sir?"  
Ianto's voice was muffled, but it still dripped with the young man's usual sarcasm. At the same time he felt Ianto tense up a little. Just a little, merely recognizable, but his shoulders suddenly grew tense.  
"Not what I meant, Ianto."  
"I know… yes, it's all right."  
He did not convince Jack, not that easily, but the older man decided to drop the topic _. At least for the moment_ , he thought, since it was obvious that Ianto would just shut himself off. Instead of drilling deeper, he placed a gentle kiss on Ianto's temple and looked down at their bodies. There were still traces of their earlier romp on both of their stomachs, and they were slowly starting to dry.  
"You know, we might end up sticking together? We should clean up."  
Ianto hugged him even closer.  
"Don't care."  
Jack's frown deepened, but once again decided to drop the matter. His hands had stilled, but they started gently caressing Ianto again. The younger man sighed and nuzzled Jack's neck, once again relaxing into the embrace.  
"You can be so damn stubborn…"  
Jack chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, but he did not know that four months prior Ianto had heard these exact words. And they had taken him by surprise.  
With the memories returning, there was the tension again.


	2. Chapter 2

Fire. Heat. He could sense them, somehow, although the temperature in the basement was the same as always. Everything burned, Ianto knew. Everything, his whole life, was in flames. He himself felt as if he burned, although he was so far away. Torchwood One, in all its glory, was being overrun by two of the deadliest creatures in the whole of the universe. Daleks. Cybermen. Ianto had never heard of them, but the instant he had seen them, he knew. There were two options. Dying or being converted. Which was like dying, basically, but much more painful in the process. Having your brain cut out and transplanted into a metal casing did not seem like the most desirable thing in the world.

Now he sat here. Hidden away, deep down in the archive section, between the shelves. Ianto shivered. Overhead, on the higher levels, people were dying or fighting a battle they could not win. Screams echoed through to him, muffled by the thick walls and the steel door locked in front of him. Maybe he was hallucinating, imagining the screams because Ianto was sure there was screaming to be heard. People suffered. People died, just three or four floors above his head the killing started, so there had to be screaming. Where there was pain and death and despair, there was noise. He knew that for sure. And with over 800 people working at Torchwood, there had to be a lot of suffering and therefore a lot of noise.

What he, indeed, could hear clearly were solid metal footfalls and the repeating echoes of "EXTERMINATE" and "DELETE". By now the young man knew about the Daleks, but there was nearly nothing on the Cybermen. The only thing he knew for sure was that they took brains and transplanted them into their bodies. And they were empty. Hollow shells, made of steel; just like the Daleks, they were devoid of all emotions. There was just their duty, and they would follow their orders without so much as a second thought.

Heavy steps came closer and finally stopped. Ianto held his breath. He knew the door was bolted and could not be opened easily without any heavy weapons, or the thirteen-digit code he knew by heart, but who knew what these monsters could do? They had tricked them into believing they were friendly ghosts, and Torchwood had built them a bridge to come over to this world. It was their own fault that everything was going to hell. Ianto had always thought that they should be more critical when it came to the Ghost Shifts. Ghosts never meant good , everyone knew that. Well, everyone, except Yvonne Hartman.  
He had talked to his mentor about his skepticism, but he shrugged it off. Well, maybe he just pretended to shrug it off. It was at least his doing that Ianto sat here, alone, holding his breath and wishing for the creature to go away.  _Just go. There is nothing for you here. I am not here. You do not see me or hear me breathe or anything. Just go, go away, PLEASE._ He nearly screamed out loud, frustrated.

On one hand, the young Welshman wanted to be out there. To die as he should die, to get what he deserved for doing as he was told. On the other hand, he was just a Junior Researcher, no-one involved too deeply into anything. His mentor kept him mainly for his brains, his knowledge of nearly everything and his memory. Ianto had always been good at memorizing things, always believing it would come in handy one day. It had done so, but moreover, it had secured him this job. He knew more than anyone of them. He did not take long to locate things deep down in the archives, as long as he knew the number.  
Now, as he sat there, Ianto let his eyes wander to keep his thoughts from his death on the other side of the door. He felt like a damn coward, but he did not want to die. And it was not. His. Own. Decision. To be here.

 _K-17.32.3._ Books. Alien Books. There was the end of the world, and Ianto was surrounded by books which he could not even read because he did not know any alien languages. Torchwood never bothered to learn anything about the species they encountered. Not their traditions, not their language, nothing. They just saw them, took the valuable or usable things and destroyed the alien threat. To Ianto, it looked a lot like payback was on its way.  
Heavy steps made his mind focus again. Heavy steps, retreating from his door, back down the corridor. Ianto sighed and slowly got up, ignoring the world spinning and swimming around him. He felt a bit nauseous; slowly the adrenaline wore off. Adrenaline leaving his bloodstream also meant that the haze he had been in lifted and the current events returned to his mind.

The ice-cold touch of a metal hand on his left arm.  
"Run, Ianto!"  
Lisa. Lisa advising him to run. Kissing him and begging him to run. Ianto did not know how he freed himself from the Cyberman grabbing him, but somehow he had succeeded. Angry (could they be angry?) shouts of "DELETE" echoed through the halls, but somehow Ianto survived. They did not get him.  
He had run, and run and run, until his mentor had caught him. He looked afraid, very much so. Afraid did not even grasp it… more like… panic. He was panicking, but why?  
"It's them. The Daleks. Deadliest creature in the universe. Run, Ianto. Hide in the archives. Section K-17.32.3. Don't let them get you, you know too much. Getting you into their hands…" a hysteric laugh bubbled up his throat as he spoke to Ianto, "would give them the ultimate weapon."  
"I can't. I have to help you fight. It's my job. It's my duty… and Lisa…"  
He was not able to grasp a clear thought. There was so much going on, so much chaos, that Ianto was completely overwhelmed. He wanted to be as small as possible, to be invisible… just to be on his own. He wanted this all to end. Now.  
"You can't help. It's too dangerous."

Ianto had not realized that his mentor had grabbed him by the shoulder and was guiding him down a corridor until it was nearly too late. Albeit looking rather frail in his large white labcoat, the older man was rather strong.  
"Look. There is nothing you can do. Hide. Don't make any noise. Maybe you'll survive this. Maybe not. But never, and please promise me this, never let them get you. If it's necessary, kill yourself. Be a rebel and let them kill you. It might sound harsh but under no circumstance let them capture you alive."  
By now, fear sent slow shivers down Ianto's spine. He did not know what to do or say, so he just nodded and swallowed the lump rising in his throat.  
"If you need to get out… 14159 26535 897. Keep your head up, and never forget:  _Hyder trwy addysg._ "  
With that, he shoved Ianto into the section he was told to hide in earlier and locked the door. It broke his heart, but he knew, it was for the best. If either the Daleks or the Cybermen got hold of his protégé, the world was doomed. With everything the Welshman knew he was a threat to humanity. He just hoped Ianto stayed put until everything was in order again.

 _Hyder trwy addysg…_  
Ianto mused about this. He had not heard Welsh in some time, and his mentor had not even been Welsh. He had never mentioned speaking Welsh, so it was even a greater mystery to the young man.  
Just as he was about to remember his first minutes in this cabinet, a strange noise filled the air. Ianto bolted for the door and frantically punched in the numbers to release the locks. If he was wrong, if everything was still the same, he would be dead in a few seconds.  
 _Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. But there's no time for a big confession. I'm a sinner, I am bad, I helped them do this. But I regret it. So please, once in my life, grant me mercy.  
_ And Ianto's wish came true. At least until he discovered Lisa. While he ran through the corridors, searching for the strange noise, he heard the screams. For the first time, realization hit home. This was real. This had really happened. So many people were dead, or worse, converted. So many people died because of them. Because of him. Ianto felt guilty. But under all these screams, he could make out one in particular.  
"Ianto!"  
Lisa's pained voiced burned itself into the deepest core of Ianto's heart.

After that, everything went fuzzy. He did not know how he got her out of the ruins of the Torchwood Tower, how he got her into the Torchwood van. Ianto still knew Lisa had instructed him on what to do and what to take, but he had no idea how he managed to transport her. When he had set her up in the unmarked black van and painkillers were running through Lisa's system, Ianto went back to Torchwood. Or what was left of it.  
It looked a bit like a bombsite. There were rescue squads, people with dogs searching for survivors and UNIT had set up camp. There was also a sleek black SUV, "Torchwood" imprinted on its sides. Torchwood Cardiff. Ianto's only chance, as Lisa had told him. Surely they were looking for weapons and important artifacts. Ianto wanted to follow them, make a good first impression, but a young woman in an UNIT outfit held him back.

"Sorry. You are?"  
Ianto fished for his Torchwood ID and handed it over. She seemed surprised, because she sucked in a breath, then she yelled for a medic. Ianto still wanted to follow the Cardiff Team, but as he took another look, they were gone. Instead of the famous Torchwood 3, there was a medical officer, also wearing a red beret, in front of him, shining a torchlight into his eyes.  
"Eyes are responsive, seems not to be hurt… are you in pain?"  
Ianto just shook his head. The soldier cocked an eyebrow.  
"Apparently he's physically fine. Mentally is a different thing, but just note him down."  
He turned to look at Ianto again.  
"Are you okay?"  
Another nod.  
"Really? Sure?"  
Another nod.  
"Okay. If you could get over to the tent, a colleague will give you a thorough checkup."  
This was his chance. Ianto nodded again, then headed for the tent. In the last moment, before entering, he made a beeline and headed for the van. Mere minutes later, he was on his way to Cardiff.

The next thing Ianto remembers clearly is the night after Canary Wharf. They spent it in an old warehouse (the one where he and Jack will catch Myfanwy later, he remembers), the van parked inside and everything obscured from curious onlookers. It's a bit out of town, so private enough for Lisa to go unnoticed while Ianto figures out her medication. It will do for now, it has to, until Ianto can go flat huntin in the morning.  
It's quiet. Too quiet for the young man's liking. There's not a sound to be heard, except for his and Lisa's combines breathing. She's high on painkillers now, sleeping and not realizing anything happening around her. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, is wide awake.

Ianto took a deep breath, supposed to be calming, when it suddenly hit him. An overwhelming smell, the smell of blood and metal and burning flesh. Ianto felt immediately sick. He heard them screaming again, heard the people being converted, the saws of the conversion units running, slicing flesh and breaking bone, humiliating humans only to dump them in an unceremonious heap after they cut the brains out. He heard the sounds, heard the Daleks and Cybermen scream and fight, and then there was this sound, like nothing he ever heard, and everything went quiet.  
He curled up on the damp floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Closing his eyes, he decided it was a bad idea and opened them again. Still, Ianto would always remember the things he saw in the small time period he spent out of the archive section. The piles of bodies, the blood, people still strapped into conversion units.. the man in the brown suit, besides the blue box, who had looked so lost and hurt, but Ianto had just thought of Lisa.

A shiver ran down Ianto's spine; then a different coldness spread from his left upper arm, all the way down to the fingers of his left hand and all the way into his heart, from where it spread through his body. A spark jolted through Ianto's body as he sat up, shocked by the memory of an ice-cold hand as the source of the coldness. They had touched him. Touched him with their cold, metal hands. But had the just touched him? How could he be sure that there was nothing done to him? Did you know when they transplanted something into you?  
His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he scrambled to his feet, pacing around like a lion in a cage. What to do now? What should, what could he do to be sure? Despair took over, and his mind first went into overdrive before going completely blank.

Ianto was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. What had they done to him? He was sure he could feel metal moving along his bones. In his distress, the young man dug through the equipment in the van. Mostly useless things, except for one or two things helpful for finding Torchwood Cardiff. He let his gaze linger again; Lisa took in most part of the van, sleeping soundly; stacked along the walls were boxes full of clutter, nothing of use. Nothing at all. Except… the weight in his pocket made Ianto frown. What did he carry around? Usually, his pockets were empty.

_Rusty Knife  
sleeping in my pocket  
come along and wield your blade  
Scare away the hungry vultures  
Before it is too late,  
too late_

_Hello Knife  
Safe inside my pocket  
A clean slate and a dirty mind  
Take my hand everytime I falter  
Never cut the tie that binds_

Ianto suppressed the cry of joy threatening to spill from his throat as he discovered the blade. He donned his shirt and huddled besides the van, only a thin undershirt between his bare back and the cold vehicle. His arm looked somewhat normal, but with Torchwood, nothing was normal. He prodded the skin a bit, testing the waters a bit, before he made the first cut. It was not deep, just superficial, and Ianto's body did not even fully realize it. Some drops of blood found their way out, but nothing more. The next cut, strategically placed a bit higher than the first one, went deeper. And the next went deeper. And deeper. And deeper. Always on the search for a trace of metal, the hint of a near-conversion, anything not human in his body. Nothing.  
Ianto could barely stop himself to go below his elbow. There were no cuts. Well, one or two, but it was too dangerous, too easy to detect them there. But now, in this situation… he could not shake off the feeling that there was something hidden there. Under all the skin and flesh and muscle.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bloody flowing freely down his arm, gathering in his open hand and slowly dripping onto the cold stone floor. There was the pain, the unmistakable feeling of warm blood on his cold body and the adrenaline. He was alive. Alive and definitely NOT converted, since the blade had not met any metal on its way. Nothing. Just soft, formerly unblemished skin which parted easily.

In this moment, the young man felt so alive. He had never felt this alive before, not even the first time he had done this. This was the highest high ever, an amazingly big rush of adrenaline, alive-ness and the bittersweet pain flowing through his bloodstream and partially gathering in his hand. He held his life in his hand. His life was visible. He was alive, well, and he and Lisa, they would make it. Surely. There was no other option. He would get inside Torchwood Three, cure her, and then off they would be.  
Months later, everything crashed down. And Ianto had the nagging feeling in the back of his head that he should have known better.

It was awkward, to say the least. He sat on his sofa, across from Owen, who looked not entirely happy to be here. It had been what? Four days? Five? Since Ianto's world came crashing down a second time. This time, he had been responsible for the death of two people. He was not so sure if he should pity Dr. Tanizaki, for Ianto had had the impression that he had not really been interested in fixing Lisa, but Annie, Annie haunted him. He dreamt of her, of Lisa using her, and he had thrown up more than once after these dreams.  
Now, he sat here, supposed to have a heart-to-heart with Owen, who would happily see him dead or retconned. Everything without the protective shell of his suit; Ianto felt incredibly weak and vulnerable wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, but now it was too late.

"So, spill it, tea-boy."  
He sounded as disgusted as Ianto felt. Ianto just looked at him, not sure what to say or do; he did not want to talk. He wanted to curl up in bed and never leave, until someone would put his misery to an end. However he or she would do it.  
"Seriously, Ianto, you might try to play the "I'm traumatized and cannot speak" card on me, but don't think I'm stupid. It was you who brought this thing into Torchwood, and it was you who would have been responsible if everything went to hell, so just tell me why. "  
"Lisa."  
"What?"  
"Lisa. She had a name."  
"Well, I don't care, because this thing nearly killed us all. And you, being a survivor of the whole load of shit that was Canaray Wharf should have known better than to bring a partially converted Cyberwoman into the Hub. Even you cannot be that stupid, can you?"

It hurt. Owen knew it must hurt Ianto, but he wanted to hurt him. Stupid git saw everything happening in London and still decides that maybe his half-converted girlfriend would not decide to kill or convert the whole world as soon as the cybertechnology woke up. He wanted to grab Ianto's shoulders and shake him, forcefully, although he knew it would certainly make everything worse.

"I loved her. I'm not sure love is something you're capable of."  
That hurt, too. Ianto looked up and directly into Owen's eyes. The doctor looked as if he was ready to kill the young man sitting in front of him, and somehow he wanted him to. At the same time, Ianto felt the urge to go for the door. To start running and never stop. The pressure inside him grew, like it had done over the past few days, but Ianto did not know what to do.  
"Now, kiddo, is the time to shut up. You don't know a fuck, and believe me, I'd really love to strangle you right now, but if I do, Jack will be very, very angry and I, other than you, will not betray my Captain. Understood? You're standing on really thin ice there, Ianto, so don't think you can outsmart me. I'm your doctor, therefore I will be completely professional at work, but don't think I'll forgive you that easily."  
Owen was angry. How did Ianto dare to tell him something about love? He did not know about Katie, no-one did, except Jack and Owen. For a brief second he considered telling him, but he did not want to be vulnerable. And telling the kid about Katie would give him something against Owen, something incredibly painful.

"Anyways, as your doctor, I have to give you a check-up. Jack's orders. So if you could please take your shirt off, I don't want to make you do it."  
With that, Ianto bolted for his bathroom, leaving a very irritated Owen behind. Very irritated indeed. He had not seen that one coming. Something was up with the young Welshman, he was certain, but since he had locked the door behind him, Owen decided to give him time. Maybe he was throwing up again; nothing too surprising after this kind of shock. Plus he was sure that Ianto was not eating properly. He would have to talk to Jack about this, so he would pay some attention during his daily visits.  
Five minutes passed. Owen let another ten minutes pass before he grew suspicious. There was nothing to be heard from the bathroom, nothing at all. This was not good. Not in Ianto's condition. He could do anything.

Inside the mentioned room, Ianto sat on the floor, leaning against the door and staring at the rather long cut marking his forearm.  _Never below the elbow… seems like this is history now._  He sighed. Owen would see. Owen would know.  
And as on cue, Owen knocked on the door.  
"Ianto?"  
"Leave me alone."  
"Ianto, come on. Let me in."  
"Why should I?"  
"Because if you don't let me in, I'll do it myself."  
"Try me."

Ianto did not want to see him. As it seemed, he had no choice, because he heard Owen fumble around with something – and the lock clicked open. Sometimes working for an organization dealing with alien artifacts sucked.  
As the Londoner tried to open the door, Ianto contemplated giving him a hard time. In his eyes, he deserved it for being the prick he was, but he gave up. Owen would force his way in, and he would not be too delicate about it, so he slid forward a bit.  
As Owen squeezed through the small space between door and frame, he was relieved that Ianto was still alive. However, as he saw him, his breath hitched. For once the stoic mask was gone. The young man sat there, motionless, eyes firmly hefted on a small puddle of blood on the floor. Blood. Why was there blood?  
Quickly scanning the situation, Owen saw the cut.

"Jesus, Ianto, did you try to top yourself? You'll have to do better than that."  
"No."  
"What?"  
Why did the kid have to be such a monosyllable pain in the ass? Pain in the ass, okay, but couldn't he at least speak in complete sentences?  
"No."  
"Ianto, if you could speak in complete sentences, it would make this a hell of a lot easier. I know you can do this, you did it five days ago when defending your girlfriend."  
When mentioning Lisa, Ianto flinched visibly and curled up a bit. Owen kneeled at his side and, as gently as possible, took his arm. He was being irate, he knew, and he was sure it was reasonable, but it was still no reason to inflict further hurt to the young man.  
"Let me see to this."

He carefully inspected the wound, not without noticing the razor Ianto still held in his right hand.  
"Okay. I think I know what's going on here… give me the razor, Ianto."  
It was a bit like talking to a little child. By now, Ianto had started shivering, and Owen feared he might pass out.  
"Come on. It's nothing big, just a small cut. I will clean it, dress it and in a few days, there will be nothing left, not even a scar."  
Ianto looked him directly in the eyes. Owen's breath hitched again. Without the usual mask in place it was like he could see into the deepest core of Ianto's soul. The kid was obviously scared, in pain and lonely. Owen resented caring for him, but he would definitely have to tell Jack.  
With a small tinkle the razor fell onto the cold tiles. Ianto's right arm hung limp by his side while Owen carefully cleaned the cut on his left arm, before wrapping it up.

"Don't tell anyone."  
"What?"  
This time it was Owen's turn to use seek out eye contact.  
"Please, don't tell anyone."  
"Ianto, this was no accident, which means this is serious business. I have to tell Jack."  
"No! Please. Please, don't tell him, don't tell anyone. They don't have to know… you're my doctor, isn't it enough if you know?"  
On the edge of panicking, Owen grabbed the young man's shoulders.  
"Ianto.. hey, it's okay. Calm down. Breathe. It's okay. Why don't you want me to tell anyone?"  
"Because… it's …."  
Between gasping for air, Ianto fought for the right words.

"… I'm ashamed."  
It was just a whisper, but Owen had to fight against the urge to hug Ianto. He had not forgiven him by now, and he would not create the impression that he had. It was hard, nonetheless. He knew what it meant to lose a loved one.  
"Okay. I won't tell Jack. Or anyone. But this is really serious. You're seriously fucked up. And I thought it could not be worse after you hiding her in the basement."  
"It's nothing… I did not do it for months."  
Owen sighed.  
"As you may think. We'll have to talk about this, but not now. You've been through enough. I bet you have not slept properly in the last days, all this giving you nightmares, so that's next on the agenda."  
With that Owen got up and held out his hand, helping Ianto onto his feet. The young man's knees were a bit weak and he looked even paler than before, dark shadows under his eyes. He looked tired and, being dressed in a casual attire, for the first time Owen thought that he actually looked his age.

Ianto slowly padded into the bedroom, always followed by Owen, watching him closely. As he sat down on the bed, Owen put a small pill in his hand.  
"Take this."  
Ianto looked up, then onto the pill again, suspicious.  
"It's not Retcon, I promise. If it were, I would have not made such a fuss of trying to talk to you."  
Apparently this eased Ianto's fear of losing his memory, or he simply stopped caring about his fate, because he swallowed it without any complaint before lying down.  
Untypically and completely unaware of his own actions, Owen sat on the edge of the bed.  
"Listen. I'm just going to say this once, probably in the hope that you might forget it because you'll soon fall asleep. But I lost someone, too, and I know it hurts, but it gets better."  
"Promise?"  
In this moment, Ianto's eyes were wide and nearly innocent – again, like a little child. He looked really small, although he was a bit taller than Owen.  
"I promise."  
"Will it stop hurting?"  
"No. It never stops hurting. It will always hurt, but not as intense as it does now. You'll learn to cope, and one day, you'll be able to smile again when you think of her, instead of crying. But it will always sting when you see her face, it will always hurt. Just promise me that you'll remember her he way she was before the battle. Because Lisa died in London."

As Owen looked up from the duvet he had been staring at, he saw that Ianto had fallen asleep. It struck him how young he really was.  _Not even 24, and he has seen more shit than anyone deserves in a whole lifetime…_  
He did not know that in a few months' time, everything would change again..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Welsh sentence in this chapter translates as "Confidence through education". It the Glyndŵr University's motto, and I thought it fitting. (And I like it ;) ). (:


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this - I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. :-) I won't write a long author's note, but I want you to know that I am really, really glad that people seem to be interested in this. It's a compliment to me as a writer, especially since English is not my first language, and I am really happy about every single one of you. 
> 
> Thank you; and see you soon. (That's either a threat or a promise... ;) )

The Hub was busy these days. With one man down, Ianto had been promoted from teaboy to fully fledged field agent. Meaning he still made coffee, took care of the archives and cleaned up, but he also got out on field missions, like a full team member. They had grown closer over the last three weeks… hell, had it really been three weeks since Jack had run off? It already felt like years ago.  
"Of course. Jack bloody Harkness runs off and the rift decides to be especially bitchy." Owen was crankier than usual, but, to everyone's surprise, he tried to be helpful. He had also turned more protective of the team, especially (and to his utter surprise) of Ianto. Owen, just as the girls, knew that he had a hard time accepting Jack's deceit. He still believed the bloody Captain would return. Sometimes the medic wanted to shake him, but he knew better. Ianto had shot him once, and that had taught Owen a lesson.

Never mess with the teaboy. Don't want to know what else they taught him at Torchwood One. He grinned to himself. After Lisa, things had been hard between the two. In fact, they still were. Owen had forgiven him… the kid had been in love, madly so, and he knew that he would have done the same. After the whole Weevil-fight club-thing, Owen knew that he was in no position to judge Ianto for the Lisa incident. Still, he had not forgiven him that Ianto had shot him without hesitation. The doctor knew that Ianto had aimed for his shoulder. Nevertheless, he still teased him about being a bad shot, covering his own insecurity.

Tosh glanced up at Jack's former office. Ianto still cleaned it, every second day, as if Jack could return every minute. She was worried. They all were, even Owen, although he did not admit it openly. She knew he did. The glances he shot Ianto spoke a different language.  
He had been off all the time. Concentrated enough to do his job, enough to do it good, but Gwen had told her that he also spent a lot time just staring into thin air. Tosh herself was sure that Ianto slept at the Hub, in Jack's bunk to be precise. They all knew he missed their boss. He was hurting, just as he already was when Jack seemed to be dead. This time, it was even worse. Usually being a quiet and reserved person, Ianto had grown even quieter.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Tosh gave a little sigh. Their days grew longer and longer, more and more work coming up. Owen was right, the Rift had decided to spit out more and more stuff. Mostly harmless, with the occasional space junk, but up until now, nothing too big had happened. It was just so… much. Sometimes she had the feeling that they should clone themselves, so they could be everywhere at the same time. Or, sounding even better, their clones could do all the work, while the originals would catch some much needed sleep.  
"Then again, we would have to clone Ianto like… four or five times."  
"What did you say?"  
Gwen broke Tosh out of her musings and made her realize that she had muttered the last sentence.  
"Nothing. I just thought about cloning ourselves, so we could catch a bit of sleep."  
"… how many Iantos would we need? What do you reckon?"  
"Too many. But still… sometimes I want to strap him down and force him to sleep or eat or basically do anything else than work. I'm not sure if he sleeps at all, but it certainly is not enough. He's just like he was before… you know…"

Lisa was still a somewhat dangerous zone. Especially at the moment, with all the stress around them making everyone itchy. They all knew that Ianto had to snap some time, but nobody wanted to be present when he did. And they certainly did not want to make him snap by mentioning Lisa. The emotional strain was huge, for all of them, but there was no doubt that a wrong word at the wrong time could cause a smaller disaster.  
"Don't let him hear you. He'll probably finally snap, and god knows, I believe we should run when he does. Don't want to know what he's like when he's really angry."  
The familiar drawl reached their ears just before they saw Owen climbing the steps of the medical bay. There was the usual teasing, even a bit degrading tone in his voice, strongly undermined by his accent, but the girls knew he cared. He actually cared a lot more than he would ever admit, for all of them. He was still Owen, and Doctor Owen Harper never admitted that he cared. Caring hurt you, so not caring at all, even pretending not to care, saved you from the pain.

"Owen!" Gwen shot him an angry look.  
"He's hurting. He just lost someone… he lost so many people in the past, don't you think you're a bit harsh? He won't turn into a serial killer."  
The medic raised an eyebrow.  
"Gwen. He shot me once, and he really aimed for my shoulder. I don't say he'll turn into a serial killer, but believe me, it's not going to be pretty. Being in love does this to you. He fell for Captain Jack fucking Harkness, and the man broke his heart. Even I could see that. If, or when, he snaps, he's not going to think about it. It's just human, but I really, really don't want to witness that."  
"Well, then I'd better check up on him. We don't want him to go all mad on us, do we?" snapped Gwen, glaring at Owen and going up the stairs to Jack's office.

"Well, at least he seems to be eating properly… ."  
Tosh looked at Owen.  
"Didn't he always?"  
"Nope. After Lisa, I had a really uncomfortable heart-to-heart with him. Didn't see what he hid under that suit of his, but believe me, it was not much. He was thinner than he looked. Frail even."  
"But he's better now."  
Worry was obvious in Tosh's voice. She and Ianto had grown really close after everything with Mary, they had their rituals and she had never felt awkward around him. They were both more on the quiet side of things, although Ianto's wit was amazing sometimes. Tosh had been surprised the first time he made a dry remark, but she had grown to love this part of him. Over the last months, she and Ianto had become real friends, sharing nearly everything. They had spent some evenings in each other's flats, watching movies and eating takeout. To her personal joy Tosh had found out that Ianto was as much a sci-fi – fan as herself, so they could spend hours talking about recently seen movies or series or recently read books. Ianto was more of a reading person while Tosh preferred watching – she liked reading, but not necessarily science fiction.

Owen just nodded.  
"Yeah, seems like he is better now. But I'm still not sure about that… who knows what he does when he's alone? He's spending most of his time here, including the nights… it can't be healthy. He's just been a shag for Jack bloody Harkness, and the man broke his heart."  
The medic sighed.  
"World's really not on his side."  
Tosh's eyes widened in surprise. Did Owen Harper, snide and always grumpy Doctor Owen Harper, just spoke about a colleague as if he cared? Somehow she wished she would be the person he talked about with such care… but that was rather unlikely, given his usual preference in women. She was obviously not his type, and she had given up long ago. On the day in the Brecon Beacons, to be precise…

The comfortable silence broke as they heard an angry "You are so damn stubborn! Get over yourself and admit it.", followed by Jack's door noisily falling shut. Ianto, responsible for the rather noisy closing of the door, wordlessly made his way through the main hub, down into the archive sections. And irate Gwen was hard on his heels, nearly steaming with anger, until she was blocked by Owen.  
"Leave him."  
"What?"  
"Gwen. Just leave him, let him have some time to himself."  
Wide eyes looked at Owen, still furious.  
"Why?"  
"He seems to be a bit… distressed, so leave him. We don't want him to snap."  
"Well, maybe it would be better!"  
Gwen looked ready to stomp her foot like a petulant child, but decided it would do nothing. With a deep sigh, she let herself fall into her chair and leaned back. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, already feeling the first sparks of an oncoming headache.

"Care to tell us what this was all about?"  
As she opened her eyes, Gwen was confronted by Tosh and Owen, giving her expectant looks. Obviously they wanted to know what had happened up there in Jack's office.  
"I wanted to talk to him."  
"Which obviously did not work, since he's sulking now."  
It was unlike Tosh to say something like this, but Gwen could not deny that she spoke out exactly her thoughts.  
"Well, tell me something I don't know."  
She had not meant to snap at Tosh, but at the moment emotions flew high and she could not help herself.  
"Sorry. I meant to talk to him… I just asked him if he's fine, but he slipped into his typical mask and said he was fine, when obviously he's completely opposite of fine."  
Owen gave a noncommittal grunt. He had been afraid of something like this. After his last encounter with Ianto, in his bathroom at home, he did not want to think about possible outcomes of this. The Welshman had said that it was nothing, that he did not hurt himself anymore, but like all addictions, you were never really free of it.  
"Of course he would. Do you ever think, Gwen? He's hurting, and it's Ianto we're talking about. He probably took a Master's degree in being invisible and wearing a mask of stoic indifference. Since Jack has gone, he's slipped into the background again, going unnoticed… he's just like he was before his girlfriend went rogue."  
"That's exactly what scared me! I just wanted him to open up, but he's so damn stubborn!"  
Owen just shrugged.  
"He's Welsh. I gave up trying to reason with you people a long time ago."

Gwen's and Owen's bickering about English and Welsh people filled the Hub. It was soothing, but Toshiko could not completely forget about Ianto.  
"I'll go and take a look. We're rather close, and I think it would be best if I'd come down and not one of you."  
She did not even wait for an answer but got up and went down to the archives; not without checking her monitor once again, confirming Ianto's location.  
At first he had been sitting in the Archives, probably filing away or just trying to calm down. She knew Ianto loved the Archives, because he could hide there if everything was too much for him to bear. He also had a particular fondness for older things, alien things – probably came with his job.  
However, in the last five minutes, his position had changed. The heat scan had shown movement, but Tosh was not entirely sure where Ianto was now. She'd have to rely on calling his name and keeping her eyes open.  
As she wandered along the dusty shelves, the Japanese woman thought about the last weeks. It had been hard for all of them, but indeed, as soon as he got the chance, Ianto had faded into the background. They still met after work, twice a week, but he had been sad. Tosh had always been able to feel it, but her tries to make it at least bearable seemed to go unnoticed. Maybe there was nothing they could to, maybe her best friend had to suffer. She just hoped that Jack would suffer, too, for reducing Ianto to a nearly empty shell.

"Ianto?"  
No answer. He seemed to be deeper down. Silently cursing under her breath, remembering what had happened really deep down, Tosh took a torch from Ianto's desk and made her descent into the archives.  
"Ianto? Are you here?"  
Still nothing.  
"Please, Ianto, just give me a sign. Come on, you know what it's like down here, and I don't want to get lost. Please, answer me. Gwen's sorry, really, but please don't hide."  
God, Tosh thought, she did not sound like someone working for an agency catching aliens. Her voice was wavering slightly, and by now, she was more talking to comfort herself. It was dark down here, and she did not know where the switches were located. On top, it was a bit damp and therefore slightly colder than the rest of the Hub. A shiver ran down Toshiko's spine.  
"Ianto?"  
Ahead of her was the door of Lisa's former room. As Tosh peered inside, there was no sign of the man in question. Where else could he be?  
A sigh escaped her lips. He could be anywhere. Ianto knew the Hub like no-one else. If he did not want them to find him, he would make sure that it was impossible to find him. Of course there was always the heat scan, but as soon as they would be on their way, Ianto would be away, too.

With hunched shoulders, Tosh slowly made her way back to where she came from, occasionally glancing between the shelves, always in the hope to find their youngest team member. For a moment the techie considered using her comms, but she was sure that Ianto did not wear his earpiece. As said – he obviously did not want to be found.  
Tosh slowly grew suspicious. Ianto had been quiet, yes, but he had not been avoiding them. He had faded into the background since Jack's departure from them, but he was always there when the needed him. Always there to be found. Opposed to this, the current situation was just strange. The Japanes woman had to admit that she was afraid of what she would find. Or better… in what state she would find her colleague. If she ever did.

The cold atmosphere in the archives just added to this. It was damp, and Tosh believed she could hear a faint dripping.  
"Ianto? Ianto, where are you?"  
Still nothing.  
"Please. I think I might got lost. Gwen did not mean it. She cares, she just wanted to help."  
Toshiko's voice sounded hollow, even in her own ears. Gwen had been so careless, Tosh did not know what to make of it. Maybe it was the emotional strain lasting on all of them that made her this careless. Although she had not been careless… maybe Gwen was just caring too much. Everyone knew that Ianto liked to keep to himself, especially when it came to his emotions, and she should not have been pressing this issue. The techie was aware of the fact that Gwen had been trying to reach out to the young man for days, always trying to get something, anything out of him, without success. Well, until today. Until she finally had made Ianto snap.

Another sigh escaped Tosh's lips. She could be running around this bloody maze that were the archives for hours until she found a sign of the young Welshman.  
Then again, she had just reached his desk when she thought she heard a bang followed by a low growl. Maybe Ianto was not as far as she thought.

Tosh disposed of the torch, then made her way through the nearest shelves. Nothing. There was nothing left on this level of the Hub. Further down was exactly the same – archive section, some unused vaults, but nothing else. One level higher were the community showers, the locker room… and her blood froze.  
Why didn't she think of this? Instead of heading directly down to the archives, she should have looked there. Ianto would have guessed that they would look down in the archives. Once again, he had been overseen. Somehow, Tosh wanted to smack herself round the head.

Climbing the stairs to the next level, the faint sound of water running reached her ears, accompanied by the groan of old pipes. The hub was old, and the pipe system seemed to be even older, accompanying every opening of the tap with a low groan deep in the base's belly. Now, it told Toshiko that she had guessed right. Someone was in the community showers, and it was rather unlikely that it was Owen or Gwen – at least she hoped so. She wanted to find Ianto, desperately, and hug him. Hold him close and just be there for her best friend.  
The notion of Ianto being there did not still the slight unease Tosh was feeling. She had the faint idea that something was very wrong, but she was unable to put her finger onto it. She tapped hear earpiece.  
"I think I found him. I'll report when I know for sure."  
Without waiting for an answer, she closed the communication link, took a deep breath and entered the community showers.

The harsh light stung in her eyes, especially after the gloomy archive sections, and she blinked a few times before her sight returned. Her eyes started tearing up a bit, and as she finally opened them, lacking all excess tears and finally able to see, Tosh could not help but suck in a sharp breath.  
"Owen, I need you down here. Now. Don't bring Gwen. And hurry, for God's sake, please hurry."

Shocked by what she was witnessing, the Japanese woman took a step back. She had indeed found Ianto – sitting on the floor of one of the shower cubicles, dripping wet and still in his clothes. His skin was pale, too pale, and he was shaking; his eyes were wide open but unseeing. Cowered in the corner, he reminded her very much of a frightened animal – or a very scared child.  
Adding to this was an angry, deep red which transformed into a nearly soft pink when mingling with the water. What hurt Tosh most, though, was Ianto's hand absently cradling a razor, hovering over his arm as if deciding where to strike next. She knew that Ianto was probably not done yet, but it looked bad enough already. Tosh could see that he had cuts inflicted on himself, and it did not soothe her worry that they were bleeding rather freely. She fought against the urge to rush to Ianto's side, unsure how he would react, and instead tapped her earpiece.  
"Owen. It's urgent. Hurry up, I need you, I really do."  
She sounded desperate to her own ears.  
"Had to send Gwen home, as you requested. What is it? Did you find him?"  
"Yes… yes, I did…."  
"Tosh, what is going on? Where are you?"  
"Community showers."  
"Okay. And what's going on?"  
"It's Ianto… God, Owen, just hurry. I don't know what to do!"  
"Alright. I think I know what happened. I'll get some things, give me five minutes maximum."  
"And what am I to do? God, Owen. Tell me what to do."  
Tosh was nearly pleading. She and Ianto were close, sure, but she could not imagine what to do in such a situation.  
"Try to pry the razor out of his hands. Talk to him. I'm on my way. Oh, and Tosh… if he snaps… don't stand in his way. We'll fix this, I promise."  
With that, the link closed and Tosh was on her own again. Had she imagined it or did Owen sound worried beyond known measures? Her belly filled with a warm feeling. Maybe he wasn't as cold as he wanted everyone to believe. After all he was just human, like all of them. Furthermore, he was a reassuring backup in the moment – which led Tosh back to the figure huddling in the corner.  
She had to hold back a sob as she saw the young man. His eyes were still unseeing; the shivering was more severe now. Tosh didn't know if it was from the water, from exhaustion, the blood loos (which could not be that bad, could it? She was not sure.) or a combination of all of them. What the Japanese knew was that she had to calm him down and get the razor.  
"Ianto… would you give me the razor, please?"

Nothing. Not even the slightest of reactions. The young man's hand still hovered over his pale skin. The shirt was ruined, that much Tosh could tell. Here and there the fabric had been sliced, apparently in the hurry to reach what lay beneath. Not to mention the blood. Although most of it went down the drain, it had still left some dark stains.

He was free. A bit. Somehow. Ianto could not quite place the feeling, but it felt so good. As if being high on something. Nothing bad existed. His world was okay. Warm and fuzzy, basking him in a slight glow. Every negative thing was gone. The hurt caused by the whole Lisa-incident. The heartbreak caused by Jack's death. The even greater heartbreak caused by Jack's unannounced departure, which he would certainly forgive him if he ever came back. The fear that someone would know that he slept in his quarters. The fear that anyone would detect this.

Hello knife  
you look sick and tired  
I wanna be your alibi  
You've always been a perfect liar  
Just cross your heart and hope to die

Hello Knife,  
you're so sick and tired  
let me suffer for your sins  
Nothing but a tool for hire  
I'll take the blame for everything

As he slowly placed the blade on his forearm, a shrieked "No! Don't!" broke the atmosphere. Tosh clutched her hands over her mouth; Ianto's head shot up, terrified eyes looking directly at Tosh.  
She had not meant to burst. Her mind raced. How would he react? It was as if an unknown force had been unleashed, unbeknownst of its true potential. The Welshman's blue eyes held a turmoil of emotions, despite being a dull blue-grey colour. A violent shiver grasped Tosh's body as she stared into these eyes that normally held a certain twinkle. A bit of mischief. Now, they held nothing but the deepest grief.

A tinkle resounded through the tiled room. Slightly dumbfounded Ianto looked down to where the razor had slipped from his grasp before hugging his knees close to his chest. He curled up into a suited, miserable ball sitting in the corner of the showers.  
"I'm sorry. Forgive me… I didn't mean… I … I … sorry… ."  
In an instant, Tosh was by his side, kneeling down. The water was still running but the techie did not care if she got soaked by cold water. Who she cared about was obviously having more than a hard time. She would take so many risks for her young colleague that a cold was near nothing.  
"You don't have to be sorry. What are you sorry for?"  
Ianto had started trembling by now, violently so, which made Tosh hug him. She did not care about blood on her clothes, she did not even so much as think about it right now.  
"I… you… never… you should never have to see this… me… I hoped that I could get through without anyone noticing… oh god, I am so sorry. So, so sorry…"

Realization hit him. Tosh had seen him. Oh God. Tosh, of all the people in the Hub, his friend, his confidante, the closest one. She had seen him… He probably had scared her off with this. She had seen, and she would want nothing to do with him anymore, and he would be alone, so alone, with Jack and Tosh gone, and oh, what should he do? What was the quickest way? He could not stand going back to being as lonely as he had been after Canary Wharf happened, with all his friends dead and a half-converted girlfriend in the back of a van, hooked up to machinery keeping her alive and free from pain… he could not do this. He wanted to live, so desperately wanted to, but how? How should he do that?

Soft hands running through his dark curls woke Ianto from his daydream.  
"You don't have to be sorry for anything, Ianto."  
Tosh's sweet voice. It was almost to gentle to bear. He didn't deserve this care, yet he relished every second. A sob reverberated through the space. Ianto was shocked to realize that it was him that had made this sound; at the same time, Tosh hugged him closer, murmuring soothing nothings into his ear. He didn't see the lone tear rolling down her cheek.  
"Everything will be fine. I promise you, everything will work out. And if I have to move heaven and earth for you, I'll do it."  
It felt good hearing such words from someone he regarded as one of the closest friends he ever had. Ianto didn't dare to fully believe in them but they calmed him for the moment. He could not help thinking she sounded desperate, but what to expect? He was desperate himself. He had felt so good. So very, very good.

"Oh, shit."  
Owen could not help swearing when he saw the teaboy and their IT-genius. Huddled in the last corner, soaking wet, Tosh held Ianto close, petting his head and quietly talking to him. The person of interest himself was nearly unresponsive but trembled like a leaf in a storm.  
As she hear him, Tosh turned her head to look at the medic. She was clearly desperate but at the same time glad that Owen was finally here. He slowly made his way, not wanting to startle Ianto. Switching off the water he then knelt down beside the pair.

"Ianto, mate… can you hear me?"  
A slow, hesistant even, nod.  
"Okay, good. Listen to me, okay? I'll give you something to make you sleep."  
"No."  
"Yes. And no objections."  
"No, Owen… I don't want it."  
"And yet you'll get it."  
"But… no. The nightmares... you can't do this to me. Please, please, don't make me sleep, don't make me dream of all these terrible things. It smells like blood and steel and fire, and the screams, oh the screaming of them… don't, please."  
Ianto was growing agitated, memories flooding back, working himself into a frenzy. He was struggling against Tosh, only slightly, but Owen feared that it might get worse. Ianto was clearly afraid of sleeping, so he had to grasp every chance he got.  
"Ianto, you need to sleep. You can't run on coffee alone. You see what happens if you try…"  
Tosh gently caressed his hair again. Owen gave her a nod and motioned for her to keep going.  
"We just want to help you. Really. We're worried, and we know that you're hurting…"

Ianto began to struggle heavier. That was when Tosh knew without taking a closer look that Owen's syringe had hit home, so she let go. Ianto slid even further into the corner, hugging his knees again, making himself as small as possible. His breathing was labored, and sometimes his hands scrambled along his shins, as if seeking hold.  
"Sorry, Ianto. But you really need to sleep."  
"I don't want to. You can't make me."  
"Try me. The sedatives will kick in. You will fall asleep soon, but I'd love to have you in your own bed. So if you could please cooperate?"  
Ianto shook his head.  
"Your responsibility. Your problem."  
Owen gave an exasperated sigh. Now he was turning into a petulant child. Oh, glory. It wasn't enough that he'd have to look after the cuts, which seemed to be many more than he expected, he'd also have to carry the bloke. Ianto was still thin, but had certainly gained some weight. Owen wasn't too keen on experiencing how much he actually gained by carrying Ianto up the steps.

"Let me at least see to your arm."  
Not accepting any discussion Owen took Ianto's hand and looked over the cuts.  
"These are a lot."  
"I know."  
The sedatives were kicking in – Ianto's voice was slightly slurred, his accent heavier than normal.  
"You said you didn't do it often."  
"That was months ago."  
"When did you inflict all these?"  
Owen knew he was taking advantage of Ianto, but he had to as long as he could. When the young man would wake up, the usual mask would be in place again, and Owen would get nothing out of him. He felt a bit sorry, but his medical instincs had won the internal battle without much of a fight.  
"Today."

Tosh sucked in a breath.  
"They are so many…."  
"30… one for every day.. and.. and.. one for everytime we had sex…. I wasn't done…"  
The sedatives made Ianto open up. His mind realized that he probably should shut up, but he couldn't bring his tongue to obey. Oh, screw it. He'd told them enough.  
"So I was right with suspecting you shagged the boss… "  
"It's not just a shag…"  
The weak response told Owen everything he needed. It was considerably harder for Ianto to answer. Silently counting down from thirty, the doctor watched his patient give in and fall into a drug-induced sleep.

When Ianto woke, he was surrounded by warmth. It smelt familiar, like detergent and fresh air. Adding to this was the smell of… breakfast?  
Opening his eyes, the young man took in his surroundings. He was in his bedroom. How did he get here? Last thing he knew, he had been in the community showers… oh. Everything came back. Moaning, Ianto decided that he could not face his friends and buried his head in his pillow, trying to shut the world out.  
The bedroom door opened with a creak.  
"Do I want to die from embarrassment?"  
"I don't think so. But Owen ordered you to take some days off. I thought I'd make breakfast…"

Tosh. Ianto turned to look at her.  
"You're still here…"  
"Of course I am. We're friends, remember?"  
She slowly made her way to the bed, carrying a tray with a teapot and a plate with toast.  
"It's not much, but you should eat. And let me see to your arm. Doctor's orders."  
Ianto blushed a deep shade of red.  
"You should not have to do this…"  
"Yet I still want to."  
There was no resisting the sweet Japanese. She was gentle and caring as she examined the cuts, treating them with antiseptic cream and light touches. Some of them had been so deep that Owen had actually had to sew them, but they seemed to heal nicely.  
"How long did you knock me out?"  
"Just about four hours. You were lucid for a short period after that, before you fell asleep."  
"Okay. Let me correct my question: How long did I sleep?"  
"Nearly two days. We woke you in between, to at least drink a bit, but you quickly fell asleep again… what have you been doing to yourself?"  
His companion gently ran her petite hands through his hair again. She enjoyed the feel of the soft dark curls between her fingers; even if Ianto's hair was slightly greasy, Tosh didn't care. What was important was that Ianto was on the mend, and he could only reach that with some care and a bit of talking.

"Did I miss something important?"  
"Oh no, Mr Jones, don't you dare! Nothing big. Two weevils, a hoix and some alien knickknacks."  
Ianto started to say something, but was immediately interrupted by Tosh.  
"They are placed on your workstation, waiting for you to file them away. But for now, you're on sick leave until next week. I'll stay most of the time, and be sure that we'll have to do a lot of talking. And I won't refrain from using drugs on you…"  
"Though she be but little, she is fierce…"  
And with that, they both emanated in a fit of giggles, increasing to laughter. Tosh thought it was beautiful to hear Ianto laugh again, although he was still sad.  
"Don't you dare quoting Shakespeare at me, smartass! I can't retort to this one!"  
"I know, that's why I did it…"  
"Oh, you!"

With the talking came the tears. Lots of them. Ianto was heartbroken, very heartbroken, and he was suffering in a way Tosh never wanted to experience. She sat with him through all of it. Watched him throw plates at the floor to control his anger. Held him when the nightmares became too much. She watched Ianto come apart at the seams until he finally ripped, snapped and broke.

As Tosh hugged him close once again, he managed a barely audible "Thank you." Between sobs. It tugged at Tosh's heartstrings to see him like this, small, frail and oh so broken.  
"I promised you. We will fix this. And if he ever comes waltzing back in, we all will give him one hell of a lecture. Believe me, Ianto."  
He just nodded, snuggling closer. Once, after Mary, Tosh remembered Ianto doing the same for her, so she was just there. Listened. Cared. And as the time came, she collected the shards of the plates and watched Ianto run. Exhaust himself. Exhaust the anger, the frustration and the pain, until he collapsed on his bed and slept. All the while watching his arms closely for new cuts. There were one or two, but she didn't tell Owen. He must have seen himself, because even the grumpy Londoner forced Ianto to talk to him.

Gwen, on the other hand, was careful around her colleague and compatriot. She didn't dare to ask about anything, but she kept excusing herself.  
"It's okay, Gwen. I know you meant well."  
"Yeah, look, Ianto, I'm still sorry."  
"I know…"  
"How are you? And don't lie…"  
"Miserable. But less miserable than before. It still hurt, but it'll stop one day, I'm sure."  
"What will you do when he comes back?"  
"Probably run into his arms like the stupid lovesick sod I am…"  
"Oh.."  
"Yeah…"  
After that, companionable silence filled the Hub for the rest of their nightshift.

The strange feeling of something wet and warm made Ianto open his eyes and raise his head.  
"Hey, sleepyhead… just cleaning up."  
Jack gave him a warm smile and a last sweep before he threw the wet flannel over his shoulder, in the vague direction of the bathroom door.  
"Hey…"  
"I'll clean up in the morning. I promise. Now turn."  
He slapped Ianto's leg to make him turn onto his side. Grumbling, the young man obliged and was instantly rewarded when Jack curled around him, spooning up against him.  
"That's nice…"  
Being sleepy made Ianto weary. He wasn't sure whether to regret saying this, but he didn't want to think about it. Maybe Jack was sleepy enough to forget it. But who was he kidding? His lover barely slept. From behind him came a noncommittal humming before Jack drew him incredibly closer to his warm chest.  
They lay in comfortable silence, occasionally caressing each other or, in Jack's case, planting gentle kiss on the other's neckline. In this moment, Ianto thought, his world was far beyond perfect. What had nearly destroyed him had rebuilt him, and he savoured every moment of it.  
"Ianto?"  
"Hmm?"  
He hadn't been aware of how close to sleep he had been. Not enough to be really jumpy, but enough for his heartrate to significantly increase when Jack quietly called his name.  
"There are scars on your arm…"  
"I know." What else to answer?  
"Why are there scars on your arm? And why so many?"  
Jack wasn't sure if they had been on his lovers pale skin before, but something about these scars intrigued him. Some were so pale that they had to be some years old while the light pink colour of others suggested that they were rather fresh. These could not be inflicted by Torchwood, not in that matter. The Immortal had a suspicion, one that sent chills down his spine if he was honest, but he wanted to hear it from Ianto.  
"It's a long story…"  
Ianto didn't want to tell Jack, afraid that he might end up alone again.  
"I've got time, so… tell me?"  
"Well… short version… they kept me alive… now and then… when you weren't there"  
And as if this was the most normal thing to say, Jack just squeezed him tight and pressed a kiss to his temple.  
"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry…"  
Ianto more felt than heard the words spoken by his lover, but it was as if he just lost a weight pressing him down. Hearing Jack and feeling him being this careful with his young lover's body and soul broke Ianto's heart. It had been as much of an admission that he loved Jack, too, the clearest Ianto dared to be about his feelings. Jack would push him away if he actually said the word "love" out loud, he was sure, but he could not help his feelings.

At the same time he knew that Jack would not demand anything further than this explanation.  
Because he understood, somehow.  
"I'll never leave you again, Ianto…"  
Ianto felt like bursting with joy and fear at the same time. As he turned to plant a chaste kiss on Jack's lips, the ex-Time Agent catched a single tear with his thumb.  
"You're welcome" he murmured before their lips met. And Ianto knew Jack meant it. Because he understood.

~fin~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ianto Jones and the Day He Broke](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315831) by [kveikur (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kveikur)




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